


Silver and Gold

by NaughtyBees



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Angst, Chapter 6: Beaver Hollow (Red Dead Redemption 2), Father Figures, Gen, Ghosts, Good Parent Hosea Matthews, Hallucinations, High Honor Arthur Morgan, Kinda?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,160
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28370907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NaughtyBees/pseuds/NaughtyBees
Summary: Arthur has a conversation with Hosea that helps him, though he's not entirely convinced it's real.
Relationships: Hosea Matthews & Arthur Morgan
Comments: 7
Kudos: 40





	Silver and Gold

Golden ripples were the only disturbances on the surface of the lake, shattering the perfect mirror. It was always sunrise. Or was it sunset? The warm rays of the west bleeding into him, a beckoning call to the undisturbed lands ready to welcome him home. The dark and reaching limbs of reflected antlers shimmered as the snout dipped for another gulp. He could see the stag. He was the stag. He felt its breath, shallow and halted, nostrils flared as it listened. He felt its legs, all four, strong and ready to run. His ears pricked and he lifted his head, the few drops falling from his mouth being the only thing left to disturb the glowing pool below him. The stag held no hate in his heart; he was proud. He was honourable. 

The shape that had drawn his attention seemed out of place. Silvery blue within a world of teardrop gold. Hot, heavy breaths ascertained the threat by smell. It was one he would recognise anywhere. The stag dug in its hooves to leap away, almost in slow motion, but he wanted to stay. He needed to. The skin of the stag began to tear as he reached out a hand, his flesh searing with unimaginable agony, his lungs bleeding as he shouted after the silver figure. 

"Hosea!" Arthur cried, jolting awake. Although the air was warm in his tent, he shivered under a blanket of cold sweat, wheezing into his palm. Another one of those dreams. That one was different though. He'd seen someone… He couldn't remember who, the dream fading out of his grasp. 

Then, it hit him. Not due to his own brain power, as he'd never put much stock in that. No, he felt a hand on his own, lithe fingers curling around his thick palm. It was warm.  
"It's only a nightmare, Arthur." Hosea whispered, his breath made of sparkling steam. "You've had enough of those."

Arthur's throat stuck together and he coughed again, hating that his dry mouth was remedied with the tang of iron, an all too common taste as of late. "You're dead." He grumbled, pulling his hand away. "You're not gonna get me freaking out over a hallucination."

Hosea laughed. Oh, how Arthur had missed that. It was different, like how he used to laugh, before it was punctuated by the wheezing and aching. "Hallucination or not, I'm here." His hand migrated to Arthur's shoulder, gentle, radiating affection. "Are you okay? Under the circumstances, I mean."

"Heh." He turned his head to look up at Hosea's kind smile. He remembered when he was a teenager, sick with flu, with his disreputable adoptive father tending to him night and day. Sure, Dutch was there, but he was never the one sponging his forehead, holding his hand, or feeding him soup. "I ain't sure, Hosea. My brain is telling me one thing, my gut is telling me another, and everything in between is broken. I ain't got a heart, barely got lungs anymore." He shrugged, wetting his chapped lips with his blood-pink tongue. "And there's not a day that goes by that I don't miss you."

Hosea nodded, his other hand resting on Arthur's forehead, in that paternal way he always did when he thought Arthur looked a bit peaky. It ghosted down his face to rest on his chest, and Hosea thinned his lips. "You won't have to miss me for long, son. Or any of us. But for now, focus on those that are left. There's still people who need you, Arthur." He moved to pull his hand away, but was stopped when Arthur grabbed his arm, squeezing with all his might. Under normal circumstances, he may have fractured Hosea's wrist with the sheer force of his desperation. But he was weak. And Hosea wasn't there. Yet, he clung to the warm apparition as though it was the most important thing in the world.  
"Does this mean you don't think I'm a hallucination?" Hosea mused with a cocky smile. 

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Doesn't mean nothin'." He growled gruffly. "I think…well, I'm pretty sure… I'm going down there, ain't I? I mean, I ain't been a good man Hosea. Wish I coulda been more like you."

Hosea frowned, giving the hand around his wrist a reassuring pat so it loosened enough for him to move. "I was never a good man, Arthur. But that's the point, son, I don't think anyone truly is."

Shaking his head, Arthur cleared his throat. "You were the best of us, old man."

"And you are the best of them." Hosea all but hissed, gesturing toward the sliver of outside, so dark compared to the shining skin of his outstretched hand. "I've always told you, don't sell yourself short. You're my boy, and you can do anything."

Arthur inhaled deeply, immediately regretting it and taking a moment or two to clear the blockage he caused, more blood on the back of his tongue. "Ugh… First thing I'd do is bring you back if I could." He murmured. "I guess I thought…Well, I imagined people being sad when I died. Dutch is too busy making goo-goo eyes with that shaved monkey Micah to even notice that I ain't ever gonna see Tahiti."

"That's not my Dutch." Hosea looked back out at the darkness. "I don't know where he is, maybe he died with me, maybe he's suffocating in there somewhere. But it's not him." As Hosea moved to peer out at the faint light of Dutch's tent, Arthur grabbed at his neckerchief, desperate for him to linger. He looked down at Arthur as the silver, translucent fabric fell from his neck, loose in his grasp. "It's okay, I'm not going anywhere."

Arthur's vision began to spin a little, so he closed his eyes and raised the neckerchief to his nose, letting the familiar smell encompass him like a blanket. "...Are you gonna stay?" He almost mouthed, barely making a sound. 

Hosea nodded. "I will. Until you fall asleep again."

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Arthur squeezed his eyelids, feeling a bead of warm cut through the cold sweat on his cheek. The last thing he felt before being submerged back in his golden world was a pair of lips, soft and gentle on his forehead, and a wiry hand brushing affectionately through his greasy hair. 

Morning. It was painful. But as was every morning. Blinking at the light and the noise of everyone waking up, Arthur peered around the tent. It was empty and he sighed, feeling a little stupid that he believed the hallucination was real. He supposed he'd make a fool of himself again before the day was out. Sitting up, he rubbed his face, about to move when he felt something graze his arm. He lowered his hands, and felt his bottom lip split open with his smile as he spotted the red neckerchief laying innocently on his lap.


End file.
